


Better On Your Own

by gilraenstar



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 03:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilraenstar/pseuds/gilraenstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex hasn't been able to sleep, and Miles just wanted to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better On Your Own

**Author's Note:**

> first milex oneshot. i'd love to know what you think, i'll probably be doing more but im not sure if ill post a lot here unless there are one or two people interested

His eyes are fixated on the mug of coffee he had made himself nearly ten minutes ago, and Miles has to wonder if he’ll ever find the nerve to actually drink it.

“Al.”

Alex snaps his eyes up to Miles, obviously startled out of whatever weird funk he’s in. The man frowns, seeming uncomfortable. “What?” His gaze slides back down to his rapidly cooling drink.

“You hungover, or what? I can’t decide  if you’re thinking about drinking the coffee or snogging with the mug.

Alex scowls at Miles with narrowed eyes and finally lifts the mugs to his lips just long enough to take a tiny sip. “Bugger off.”

Sensing the pure exhaustion emanating from the half-hearted statement, Miles sighs and leans back in his chair. It’s impossible to get things out of Alex when he’s so stuck in his own head. He’ll mull over a question or an event without ever being able to force the words out of his mouth. It’s almost as if he’s tongue tied, his inability to properly write lyrics is reflected in his talkativeness too. His carefully thought out sentences and word placement has evaded him even for everyday conversation.

“Al?” Miles tries again.

Alex gives Miles his attention for real this time, combing his hair back out of his eyes with his fingers. “Sorry. I was just thinking about some shit.”

“Writer’s block?”

“Fuck off, yeah? I just don’t feel like talking.” Alex says hoarsely. He sounds like shit, and if it were at all possible- looks like shit too. It doesn’t look like he’d gotten any sleep last night, which, considering their activities last night, Miles is surprised. They’d been exceptionally rough with each other, seeing as how it was their first real night back from touring. Their kisses had been sloppy and touches almost harsh.

Miles had fallen asleep almost right afterwards, but he vaguely remembers seeing Alex lying silently beside him, staring up at the ceiling.

Without another word, Miles takes away their dishes from their meager breakfast, for the moment respecting his lover’s want for quiet.

He takes Alex’s hand, pulls him to his feet. The man moans in protest, seeming content to sit and stare unseeingly for the rest of his life.

“Come on, Al. You don’t even half to talk.”

Miles leads him back to their bedroom, closing the door behind them to block out the rest of the world.

Alex seems like he’s dead on his feet as Miles leads him back to bed “Lay on your stomach,” Miles prompts gently. Once his lover is comfortably settled, Miles straddles his waist and very gingerly begins to work out the knotted muscles of Alex’s back.

“Will you tell me what’s been stressing you out lately?” Miles asks. He’s concerned, honestly. Alex still isn’t relaxing, his entire body is tense as if he might just throw Miles off at any moment and run for it.

Alex takes a deep breathing, holds it for a moment, then lets it out all at once. “You said I wouldn’t have to talk, Mi.”

“I’m just worried about you, I suppose. You haven’t been yourself lately.”

After a few more minutes of undisturbed peace, Alex is finally starting to melt into his touch. And then, he finally gets up the will to speak. “I haven’t been able to sleep lately.”

“Tour always fucks up your sleep sche-.”

“No, Miles. I haven’t been able to sleep. Like at all.” He sounds so resigned, as if he’s wearily accepted this fact. “I haven’t slept in three days, I’m going fucking insane. Me heads been killing me all morning, I can’t fucking concentrate, and I dunno what to do.” He says desperately.

Miles can feel Alex tensing up again beneath him and immediately goes back to his massage, hoping that he wouldn’t get too worked up again. “It’s all right, just calm down.”

“I’m completely calm,” Alex replies irritably, moaning miserably into his pillow.

“Is there anything else though?” Miles asks. “Sometimes stress can keep you awake, you know?”

Alex mutters something unintelligible, but when prompted to repeat it so Miles can hear, he stays stubbornly quiet.

So, unsure of what else to do, Miles gets up and starts off toward the kitchen to make his love a soothing cup of chamomile tea. Alex always does the same for him whenever he feels poorly.

“Nooo,” Alex whines. “Come back, you little fucker.”

One of the things Miles will always find adorable about Alex is his need to seem like a jerk. It’s a self-defense mechanism, Miles supposes. At times, when Al is feeling vulnerable or sick he’ll bring out the curses and nasty comments.

Miles has always been able to see through it though, and finds it as nothing less than amusing. “I’ll be right back, love. I’m putting the kettle back on.” He hears a few choice words being thrown half-heartedly in his direction, but pays them no mind.

He sings to himself softly as he refills the kettle and places it back on the stovetop prior to turning the burner on again. Miles leans against the counter, continuing his song as he waits.

It doesn’t take more than five minutes before the kettle starts to join in on his singing, so he takes it off, taking two mugs out of the cabinet. He pours the first without a problem, but swears when he spills the second, accidently bathing his fingers in nearly boiling water.

“Miles?” Alex calls sleepily.

“Fuck,” Miles mutters. He waves his hand quickly through the air as if that might help the sudden pain. “Fuuuuuuck.”  Setting the kettle aside, he turns on the faucet with his right hand and holds his left under the cool water, still swearing like a sailor.

“What’s wrong?”

Miles turns just enough to see to Al propped up in the doorway, looking concerned. “Did you  hurt yourself?”

Miles gives a little laugh. “Not as badly as last time, love.”

Alex scowls at that and steps forward to take a look at Miles had done to himself. He’s gentle, looking at the swollen burns the hot water had left behind. He presses a kiss to Miles’ palm, and Miles can’t help but smirk and roll his eyes. Alex has always been a bit cliche.

“You can finish the tea, since you’re up. I was just going to put a plaster on this or something.

“Forget the fucking tea, mate,” Alex scoffs tiredly. He goes for the first aid kit so he can bandage Miles up himself. It takes only a minute for Alex to find the right kind of plaster and infection fighting balm and half a minute more to apply the easy fix.

As soon as he’s finished with that, Alex pulls Miles back to the bedroom. “Come on. I’m fucking tired and I just want to sleep with you next to me.”

Miles offers a little smile. “That can be arranged.”

They curl up in bed together, and much to Miles’ relief, they both manage to drift off in a tangle of limbs and love.

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